


Follow the Yellow Flowers

by winterune



Series: Follow the Yellow Flowers: Aerith Week 2021 [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Aerith Week 2021, Angst, Day 4: Yellow Flowers, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Flowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterune/pseuds/winterune
Summary: [Aerith Week 2021]Follow the yellow flowers. That was what her mother had said. Back when they’d lived within a wall of steel, where the lights shone a cold bluish hue.---A glimpse into Aerith's childhood back in Shinra's lab and what meaning the yellow flowers hold for her.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Ifalna
Series: Follow the Yellow Flowers: Aerith Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149914
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Follow the Yellow Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aerith Week 2021, Day 4 prompt: Yellow Flowers
> 
> I'm fascinated by the Remake's line 'Follow them, the yellow flowers.' It opens so much possibility, and this is one of my takes on it.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

Follow the yellow flowers. That was what her mother had said. Not Elmyra, no. Her biological mother. Back when they’d lived within a wall of steel, where the lights shone a cold bluish hue. Men in white coats would come in through the sliding door and take her mother away every morning, and every morning they would leave Aerith alone in that room with what toys and books they’d thought appropriate for children. Not that any of them had been anything children _could_ read. Astronomy, Biology, Planetology. Nothing she had understood, what’s with all the technical terms. But Aerith had loved seeing the pictures, so she would take a book out everyday, then sat down to read. 

Aerith’s favorite was a flower encyclopedia tucked between those difficult books—small, thin, more like a notebook than anything, or a botany journal. On every yellowed page were indiscernible scribbles with a picture of a flower or plant attached to it. Aerith loved looking at the beautiful, cursive writing, so on days she’d been left alone in that room, she would sit on the bed she shared with her mother and tried to read. Like deciphering ancient codes that would unlock a treasure hidden deep under the sea. That was the sort of glee and excitement Aerith felt every time she opened that book. Every time the door slid open and someone came—because someone always came, be that the white-coated men with the needles or scans, or the men in black tasked to guard her—Aerith would hide the book away, tuck it under her pillow or behind the bed. Because the book hadn’t seemed like it belonged in that immaculate room, just as Aerith had never felt like she belonged anywhere. She hadn’t wanted them to take it away from her. 

“What are you reading, Aerith?” her mother asked one night. 

Her mother would sometimes have Aerith sit in front of her as she combed her hair with her gentle fingers. The movement was slow, rhythmic, with a soft melodious hum accompanying it. Aerith often wondered if it gave her mother a peace of mind. Each night they returned her to the room, Aerith always found her mother with a shortness of breath, her shoulders drooping as her chest heaved in labored breathing. But she'd always smiled, even as exhaustion leaden her features. So Aerith let her comb her hair. At the very least, she hoped it distracted her mother from whatever she had had to endure. 

“It’s something I found on the bookcase,” Aerith said. “A book about flowers. Look! I think whoever wrote this had documented every plant this Planet has.” 

She lifted the book for her mother to see, and as Ifalna’s gaze fell upon it, her green eyes visibly widened in a stunned surprise. 

“Where did you get this?”

“From there.” 

When Aerith pointed at the stack of books beside their bed and her mother followed her gaze, she could tell that a sort of unease had settled in her mother’s heart. Her brows had furrowed and a little frown had pulled at her lips. But Ifalna remained silent, eyes fixed on the books as she muttered something under her breath. 

“Mom?” 

It was like waking up from a trance, the way she jerked and shook herself. She pulled her gaze away from the books and into Aerith’s inquiring eyes. The unease was gone. In its place was a small, gentle smile. 

“Is something wrong?” Aerith asked.

But her mother only shook her head and tightened her arms around Aerith. “Nothing, just—it reminded me of something.” Even as she said it, Aerith did not miss the way her mother's smile faltered, the green in her eyes dimming as they gazed into something Aerith could not see. 

Aerith never dared ask why. If only because the first time she had seen it had been when a gaunt-looking man in that despicable white coat had entered their room, sauntering like he had owned the place. There had been something off about him, something ominous that had made her mother hide her behind her back, her grip hard around Aerith’s arm. 

“What do you want?” her mother had said. 

“Nothing, nothing, no need to be so up in arms. I’ve come in peace.” His light, greasy chuckle had grated against her ears, even as he’d held himself in a way that betrayed his high status. Aerith had immediately hated him.

“The last time you came in peace, someone ended up dead.”

The man had blinked, then raised his brows. “Now, is this something we should talk about so casually? In front of your daughter no less." When her mother had shown the littlest sign of hesitation, he'd barked a laughter, his gray eyes glinting behind his thick round glasses, the thin ponytail hanging from the back of his head swaying with the movement. “You’re weak, and your husband was weak. He got what he deserved after escaping with my specim—”

“Get out.” 

“I only want to have a chat with little Aeri—”

“ _Get out!_ "

The lamp over the man’s head had shattered. Sparks flew and the room plunged into darkness. One of his guards had rushed forward, shouting, “Professor!” But this professor had only raised an arm and ducked his head. Shards of glass had showered him, a piece grazing his cheek and cutting his skin. 

“So predictable.” He had clicked his tongue, fishing a handkerchief from his chest pocket to wipe the blood dribbling down his cheek. “We’ll visit some other time.” 

The professor and his entourage had left, but Aerith could never forget the tearful rage she’d seen on her mother’s face. 

"Who was it?" she dared ask now. She'd moved to her mother's side as her mother held the book on her lap, flipping one yellowed page to the next with utmost care, as though one wrong move and the book would disintegrate. Her mother glanced at her, brow quirking in inquiry. Aerith gulped past the lump in her throat and pushed forward with the question. "The person who wrote the book. You know him, don't you?" 

Her mother didn't look surprised, or pained. Just a small smile, tender if Aerith could call it that, laced with nostalgia. "Your father." 

Aerith had guessed that. The first time her mother had ever shown that expression had been when the professor had mentioned her husband. Aerith's father. She shouldn't have been surprised, but her heart still gave a little twinge of pain at the confirmation. 

"I don't know how this book got here, or if this is some sort of sick play Hojo is playing, but… yes, your father wrote this," her mother went on. "We wanted our future daughter to have a love for nature, so he wrote the book, in the hopes it could cultivate it. That's why he named you Aerith. For earth."

Earth… 

Tears pricked her eyes. Aerith had never heard her mother talk about her father before. They rarely ever talked about her mother's past at all. So to receive this much information at once… A smile blossomed across Aerith's face as she shifted her gaze back toward the book, her heart set on keeping it safe at all cost. 

She flipped the book to the next page and a familiar flower drew her attention. 

“Wait, Mom, look!” On the page was a picture of a single yellow flower, its six petals long and curling outward. “That’s the one I saw in my dreams!” 

“Yellow Lilies,” her mother said, reading the name written above the picture. Beneath it were more incomprehensible scribbles that her mother had no trouble reading. “They mean reunion.”

“Reunion?” 

Her mother nodded. 

“What kind of reunion?” 

“Any kind, I would guess. Like reuniting with a friend, or a loved one.”

“Loved one?”

Her mother nodded, slipping her arm around Aerith's shoulders and drawing her close. “Say if we are ever separated, if you follow the yellow flowers, they would lead you back to me.” 

“ _Would_ we be separated?” The thought had never crossed Aerith's mind, and now it set her heart anxious.

“If, my darling,” her mother repeated, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. Her gentle smile tried to convince Aerith that it was an impossible future, yet Aerith could not find it in herself to believe her words.

She had been having dreams lately. Of a flower field under a midday sun, the sky bright blue with wisps of clouds drifting past. Beneath her feet were those same yellow flowers, stretching as far as the eye could see, past the rolling hills and into the distance. Aerith would stand there, her hair and dress flapping against the billowing breeze, watching the far horizon as she waited, and waited… 

For what, she never knew. But now that her mother had mentioned something about being separated, Aerith could not get the thought out of her head. Because every time the dream visited her, her heart would seize, heavy and suffocating. Like the yearning for someone’s presence. Or the fear of something that had yet to come. The clear sky always taunted her with its vast beauty, tempting her to step forward and reach out. _Follow the yellow flowers_ , a voice seemed to say. Soft and lilting—familiar. _They’ll be your guidepost_. But Aerith’s feet were always frozen to the spot, fearing that if she were to make the slightest movement, they would take away something dear to her. 

Her mother was still smiling, so Aerith smiled back, burying the dream deep in the farthest reaches of her mind. _Yellow lilies_ , she spoke to herself, tracing the picture on the book. _Reunion_. 

* * *

_Can you hear me, Mom?_

Sometimes, after watering her garden, Aerith would sit in front of her flowers and tell them stories. Mostly about her day. What she did and whom she met. Helping children at the orphanage or doing odd errands around the slums. Sometimes, the flowers would speak back, like a gentle caress of the breeze or the little sways of those petals. Their words would seep into Aerith’s heart without her ever hearing their voice. Most of the time, they would remain silent.

Today was one of such times. In an isolated alcove of a rocky outcropping, Aerith crouched before her flowerbed outside Elmyra’s cottage. Sunlight slanted in through the gap between the metal plates in a shade of deep orange. The water rolling down the cliff face usually soothed her ears, but now they were like a clog, muffling her entire senses and barring her from hearing what the flowers had to say. 

_Mom_ , she called again, inwardly. 

It was silly; she knew. They were only flowers, and they couldn’t speak. It might have only been her parents’ promise to reunite with the yellow flowers. Aerith never did ask where her father had learned the flower meanings. Had he compiled it from his travels across the Planet? Or had he gotten it from her mother’s Cetra knowledge? She never knew, nor she’d ever cared. The book she’d taken with her on her escape from the Shinra lab over ten years ago now lay in her room, safely tucked in a drawer along with everything her mother had left her.

_You said these flowers would reunite us._

Aerith stroked the yellow petal between her fingers and let out a quiet sigh. It might have been her own wishful thinking—planting the flowers and hoping to hear her mother’s voice. But she’d known, always, that her mother wasn’t there. That she’d left for the Lifestream, and the voices Aerith often heard were never hers. No matter how many times she called, her mother never answered. Like screaming to a void, where all she heard back was the echo of her own voice.

**~ END ~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) Please leave kudos/comments if you find the fic to your liking! Thank you^^


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